Consciousness
by Giampi
Summary: Funny, isn't it, how you're only part of someone else...


Consciousness

**By Giampaolo Bianchi**

**Giampi13@hotmail.com**

We are all comprised of many parts.  There is the part of ourselves that we wish to reveal to others, and there is the part that we keep locked in our minds, deep inside our psyches.  There is the part of our mind that wishes to do only what is good and right, just as there is the part of us that feeds on our rage, our sadness, and our fear.  Our greatest dreams…and our greatest nightmares.

_But there are also parts of us that are mere fragments of a greater whole.  A stray emotion, a lost memory, the tiny synaptic pulses that jump between our brain cells and are lost forever to the huge void of the subconscious.  The seemingly unimportant details that we dismiss just as soon as we become aware of them.  What ever happens to them?_

_And what happens when we forget something larger than that?  What if something as instrumental as your courage is thrown into the void?  What would happen if the love you feel gets dropped into the mental heap?  Who would help you find it?  Or, more importantly, how do you get it back?_

_One can only wonder…_

_***_

Awareness.

It struck him deeply as he felt the concrete hardness of reality slam into him, a wall barring his endless plummet.  He didn't bother to look around; he was too dazed to even care where he was.  Or what he was.  Or _if he was at all.  Stunned, he let reality soak into him, like a sponge.  After a while, he got up.  Or he got down.  Sideways, maybe?  He couldn't really tell.  Gravity was something new to him._

He looked around.  There were four beds.  Beside them were four beings.  Each of them identical to the other.  They were all reddish in shape, with yellow beaks protruding from their faces.  Out of curiosity, he ran his hand through his face.  Predictably enough, there was a beak there.  The others didn't seem to pay much attention to him, though, and simply walked around, conversing with each other.  That didn't strike him as odd.  What _did _was the sign standing near one of the walls.

"Curious."

The others stopped cold and looked at him.  One of them, apparently the leader (but how could anyone tell?), stepped up to him and looked at him. "What did you say?" Surprised, he frowned and proceeded to say it again.

"Curious."

He didn't know why he said it.  He just did.  It didn't strike him as odd, yet the others seemed to be dumbfounded by it.  This shock died down soon, though, as the others removed their attention from him and resumed their normal conversation.

With that done, he proceeded to take a look at himself.  There were feathers covering his entire body, down to a pair of feet.  Upon further inspection, he noticed that those feet were his, and he wiggled them around to test them.  He also took notice of the arm which he had used to find his beak (which was what he used to say the word that had shocked the others not long before).  He moved it around.  It felt awkward, but very good to move his arm around.  After a while, he decided that he was enjoying it, and played around with his newfound toy.  However, he wasn't used to movement, and he accidentally hit himself in the face. "Ouch." He said, not knowing why.  He then reached the conclusion that such a thing was unpleasant, and began to move his arm again.  He was very much surprised to find that there was another arm exactly on the other side of him; he contemplated that as he also noticed the smaller arms protruding from the larger ones.  These could be moved with greater skill and dexterity than their larger counterparts.  After what seemed like a while he was satisfied with his extremities, and decided to explore the space he was in.  

As he walked around he became aware of a slight feeling in his head.  Not unpleasant, yet annoying all the same.  It seemed as though he was missing a chunk of something, a thought, perhaps.  He deduced that he wanted to find whatever it was that was gnawing away at his head, and began to look around.  His face then met the sign it had met before.  Not knowing how, or why, he read it. "Flying Man." He whispered. "It says Flying Man." Struck by a sudden rush of thought, he smiled. "I am a Flying Man." He didn't know what either of those words meant, or how he read them, but he knew that much.  This made him content.

***

It had been exactly four months, thirteen days, twenty-five minutes, and thirty-nine…no, forty, seconds since he had landed here.  The others had accepted him by now, and he seemed to be almost exactly like them.  After a while, he realized that they were Flying Men too, and that, to prevent confusion, they had numbered themselves.  He had tallied himself up as Flying Man 5.  He wanted to be Flying Man 8, since 8 was a much prettier number than 5 (or so he thought), but the others convinced him that it would only cause confusion when the eighth Flying Man arrived and _he wanted to be Flying Man 8 as well.  Not one to contradict, he gave in.  _

It was strange to think how the Flying Men were able to survive without food or water.  Oddly enough, he had never seen either, but he felt that is was impossible to survive without them.  He decided that, when he saw a food and a water, he would ask them why they were needed to survive. 

This wasn't his only concern.  That odd feeling still crawled around his head, and, although he could stifle it sometimes, it remained there, for as long as he could tell.  When he wasn't pondering the meaning of this feeling, or trying to find food and water, he was usually sitting on one of the beds, moving his arms and legs around.  And when he wasn't doing _that_, he was sleeping like the others.  It took him a long time to figure out why there were more Flying Men that beds for them sleep in, but eventually he found out that he was sharing a bed with Flying Man 4.  Such was his life.

***

Courage.

He had never heard of the term before.  Of course, he knew well by now that just because he never heard doesn't mean he didn't know what it was.  He knew that he had courage within himself, and that was all that mattered.  

His world was set completely off when a small boy walked into the Room.  He was around thirteen (but thirteen what?), with disheveled hair and striped pajamas.  He walked around with an air of serious curiosity (much like himself, he thought), and his face showed knowledge much beyond his years (maybe these "years" are what the boy had thirteen of).  The boy walked up to him.  He was much taller that the boy, and he had to look down to talk to him.

"Hello." He said.  He paused as he heard himself say something he had never said before.  The boy smiled and waved his hand. "Hello. I'm Ness." A Ness. Just as he was a Flying Man, this boy was a Ness.  His tone alternated between deep and light tones, as if he wasn't completely grown, but not completely young.  The Ness, as he called himself, looked around at the others, then back at him. "Who are you?"

He hesitated.  The Ness had been able to get inside this Room, this universe which constricted his psyche into a small dwarf of himself.  A brilliant burst of logic hit him.  If he could get _in, he should be able to get __out.  He decided that he wanted to get out, as opposed to staying in.  He looked around, then back at the Ness. "I follow you around here."_

"Oh, really?" The Ness giggled. "What's your name?"

He paused again.  A name?  He'd never though of that before.  He never had one.  He had been catalogued as Flying Man 5, a simple copy in a room full of endless drones.  The desert of anonymity had been interesting, but he longed for more.  He thought.  He was a Flying Man, with courage to boot.  If he was to follow the Ness around, he might as well be someone.  After all, how would the Ness feel if he was being followed around by no one?

"My name?" he asked.  The Ness nodded.  He looked around, then it hit him.

"Let's say Flying Man."

It fit perfectly.  None of the others seemed to pay attention to the Ness, so they probably wouldn't mind if they called him that (The first Flying Man might, but he couldn't distinguish him out of the others, and could, therefore, not ask his opinion).  Besides, Flying Man was much better that Flying Man 5 or even Flying Man 8.  He looked at the Ness, then to the rest of the room. "Let's go." He said.

"Right." Answered the Ness.  He stepped up to the door and began to turn the knob.  Suddenly, Flying Man felt something. "What is that?" he asked.

"A door." Replied the Ness. "You use it to get out of the Room."

The feeling in his head vanished.  A door.  _That was what he was feeling.  Of all the things he knew, he didn't know what a door was.  If he only could have known sooner!_

***

Awe.

Nothing else existed within him as he left the Room.  He felt suddenly free from the room, free to expand his psyche.  No more limits, no more constrictions.  He hardly noticed the world outside.  He was too busy enjoying the newfound freedom he had longed for without knowing.  He followed the Ness around as he explored the realm where he was.  The small, island-like "Magicant" was filled with new possibilities and new feelings.  He finally saw both food and water, as well as other doors with other Rooms in them.  It was great. 

Both the Ness and Flying Man came to a small tunnel (or a hallway, either was fine) that was tinted a dark red.  None took it amiss, and kept on walking.  Flying Man looked over the edge and found it to look very much like nothing; nothing was there, as opposed to something.  Flying Man looked at the other edge of the tunnel and found that it was full of nothing as well.  Flying Man decided that, one day, he would have to get through that nothing and over to something.  The Ness couldn't understand what he meant.

Flying Man looked to his right and saw something coming.  It was a huge pair of lips.  It tried to smack itself into Flying Man, but he simply stepped aside and brought down his hand hard on the creature.  It faded away slowly, without much noise.  Flying Man jumped around in celebration, flailing his arms about.  His arms, Flying Man found, had many uses.  The smaller arms (which were identified by the Ness as "fingers") could grab many objects, and his feet could also be used to make himself move faster or slower along the tunnel.  Together with the Ness, they made it along the tunnel, although Flying Man knew not why.  As far as he knew, he wasn't really fighting for a cause; he was just fighting.  Maybe his courage told him to do so.  Maybe.

They eventually came to a very big water, with lots of grass around it.  Both were tired.  Flying Man was not affected by this however; the simple feeling of it drove him to push himself more, as if he would never feel tired again and had to treasure the moment.  He fought, driven by his courage, and followed the Ness until they reached a statue at the center of the water.  The Ness seemed frightened by it.  Feeling pity (a whole new emotion, which, although thrilling, was altogether unpleasant), Flying Man stepped up to him. "You can take some of my courage if you want. I have plenty."

"It's okay." Replied the Ness. "I need to find my own."

Flying Man cocked his head to the side and showed confusion. "I am afraid that I do not comprehend."

"I was afraid you wouldn't." The Ness sighed and looked downwards.  His face seemed troubled.  For once, it seemed that the Ness didn't have all the answers.  This was an unusual sight, and heretofore unseen by Flying Man.  He concluded that he needed to know why the Ness was afraid that Flying Man wouldn't.

"Please Explain."

The Ness smiled briefly and chuckled.  Flying Man considered doing the same, but preferred to remind himself to do so later.  The Ness looked to the grass and began to speak. "This place…is filled with darkness.  Darkness I created.  Hate, fear, anger, every evil thought I have ever had resides here, in the Sea of Eden."

Flying Man nodded. "I see." He didn't see.  Quite the contrary, in fact.  He just needed to say something comforting, or at least intelligent.  He ruffled his feathers and shook his head. "Please continue."

The Ness sighed. "I'm trapped here, in Magicant, because I need to vanquish my darker side. But…my darker side can never really disappear. So I'm just burying it in the back of my mind. You know what I mean?"

"No."

The Ness sighed again. "Let's just say…that I'll find my courage when I defeat my nightmare." He then turned away and began trudging through the water, not making a sound.

Flying Man pondered at the previous conversation.  He knew he had courage; it was probably inside a cavity in his chest, or maybe in his head.  But he found himself unable to grant any of this courage on the Ness (he wouldn't know how to do so anyway).  It would seem that the Ness' courage was somehow different from his own.  He didn't have time to ponder the matter for long however, when he heard the Ness yell from far away. "Are you just going to stand there, or what?!"

Flying Man cocked his head to one side, then the other, and finally nodded. "No. I believe I will not just stand here, or what. I am coming." 

***

Both the Ness and Flying Man fought hard against the statue.  It was, according to itself, the darker part of the Ness' own mind.  Odd, considering that the Ness was standing there.  If it was a _part _of him, shouldn't it fit inside him?  Flying Man had no time to ponder this as he was hit by the full power of the statue's psychic attack.  Flying Man found himself unable to stand as his strength (though not his courage; he still felt it there) left him and he collapsed.

At this very moment, the Flying Man came to a great realization.  He was, unfortunately, not himself, or anyone else for that matter.  Like the statue, he was part of the Ness, the being that created him and gave him life.  He realized that this island, this Magicant was only a fabrication of the Ness.  The thought of being a fabrication, an illusion, made him mad.  Why had the Ness done this to him?  To create a whole world and then sit idly by while it crumbles…to _aid _in this destruction of his own mind…

Another burst of logic hit him.  If he was a part of the Ness, and he was filled with courage, then…he must be the Ness' courage!  Of course!!  The brilliance of it all filled him with great joy.  It was because of him that the Ness was able to make it here.  That is what the Ness meant by "finding his courage"; only by defeating the nightmare could Flying Man be re-absorbed into the Ness…to become whole.  But then, it this was so, what would happen after he was no more?  This new emotion, confusion, hit Flying Man like the hard floor of the Room did so long before.  What to do?  He felt himself slipping away, with little time before his precious courage would disappear forever.  Sound and sight were going fast, as were touch, taste, and smell.  Soon, only thought remained.  Flying Man figured that he should do _something _before he lost that as well.

An idea.  Like a summer breeze, it crept up on him and circled around his head.  If he could give his courage to the Ness, why not the other Flying Men?  He figured that, since he took their identity as his name, he should give something back, and what better something than courage?

Flying Man felt his thoughts slip from himself.  There was little time left.  Concentrating, he sent his courage to the other Flying Men, not knowing how.  Not _caring how.  He slowly slipped away from being and felt…no, he didn't feel himself creep out of existence.  His only purpose was to carry the Ness' courage, and he had fulfilled his task.  He could rest easy knowing that the courage was safe.  His last though was of happiness, knowing that he had a purpose at the very least, and that he was able to see beyond the Room, beyond the Magicant…beyond himself.  And, as he ceased to be, he lost all of his thoughts, all the emotions he took so long to achieve.  _

He fought well…and died.

***

Ness felt a slight sense of nostalgia as he stepped onto the platform where the Mani Mani statue, the darker part of himself, used to be.  This had been the third time he had challenged the nightmare.  When he was defeated, he returned to the Flying Men and enlisted their aid.  But, alas, they were only mindless drones.  The first one was the only one to actually feel anything, anything at all.  When he fell, he began to fade, but Ness knew what the Flying Man was thinking: He was to be no more.  What happens when you are no longer you, but you are nothing?  If you are nothing, are you still you?  Ness pondered that for a second, and then smiled.  The Flying Man hadn't disappeared.  The gravestone that Ness unconsciously made for him beside the hut of the Flying Men proved that.  He was more than a mere casualty, a simple copy of the others.  And, even though he would surely disappear once Ness left Magicant, Ness knew what the Flying Man was.

He was Ness' courage.

_-FIN _


End file.
